Pages

I love you, I love you, I love you.

6 years ago today the cute boy with the long hair
kissed me for the first time in a dark nightclub, 3 hours after meeting
me and 2 hours after asking me, jokingly, to go to New York with him the following
Christmas.

It was the moment everything changed.

He
called me the next day and we talked for four hours on the phone. About
nothing and about everything.

For our first real date he took me to
Sainsbury’s as he had run out of bread and then for a curry. I didn’t
like spicy food and I was so nervous my stomach hurt; I couldn’t eat a
thing.

I
read two books a week, drank more coffee (even then) than is probably
considered healthy and had grown up in a house full of songs and card
games. He only read car magazines, hated the very thought of coffee, had never heard of
the Court of King Caratacus and had a smile that made my stomach flip
over. It still does.

He
was chardonnay and fast cars and New York City dreams; I liked books
and the seaside and I never strayed too far from home. We were so
different. We were chalk and cheese and it moved too fast. His dance
music made me cringe and where he wanted bright lights and wine bars, I
was happy on my sofa with a blanket and his arms around me. We probably
shouldn’t have worked but somehow we just did.

Who knew, that love could be like that?

I have loved him since that day; he has loved me without ever letting up.

It’s
been hard. There have been trials and there have been tribulations but
somehow, at the point that other people might have given up we’ve just
held on tighter, digging in our heels and riding it through, believing
wholeheartedly that whatever awaited us on the other side would make it
all worthwhile. Perhaps there’s a stubborn streak in both of us, an
ingrained need to not be defeated; perhaps it’s because somehow we both
know how precious life can be: you have to live in the moment and take
what you can and so we did.

We do.

Sometimes he kisses me and it’s like a promise: I will always love you.

Sometimes he kisses me and it’s like a point to prove: I will always love you.

Sometimes, he kisses me.

I
am grateful for him, grateful for love, and so very aware of how rare
and precious a thing it is. I don’t ever plan to let that – or him – go.

Happy 6 years, Boy Racer. Here’s to the next six, and the rest of forever. Your face is my favourite of all the faces.

Search

About

A bookworm in her mid-30's who likes sunshine and snow covered mountains and the cold side of the pillow and being the little spoon. Writes book reviews more akin to coffee with friends than any intellectual book club. Binge watcher who has been known to use holiday days to stay in her pyjamas under a blanket watching Ugly Betty and who thinks nothing will ever be as sad as Billy on Ally McBeal although some things come close. Does not believe in the term guilty pleasures - you do you, you gorgeous creature. A happy, sleepy, over-thinker.

About Me

Josephine. Mid-30’s (still not sure how to adult). Bookworm. Lover of coffee and marmite and pad thai. Hardly ever eats breakfast. Has too many copies of Alice in Wonderland. Also loves skiing and the sea and road-trips and laughter. Terrified of wasps.
,